


Riding Bitch

by Geonn



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Crushes, F/F, Fantasizing, Flirting, Missing Scene, Motorcycles, Mutual Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 10:02:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3565577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The easy part was stealing the jet. The hard part is waiting for their pilot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Riding Bitch

Shaw liked to drive. Control was the obvious reason, although that wasn’t entirely why she insisted on taking the keys whenever an opportunity came up. She was no one’s passenger. If she had to get somewhere, she wanted to get there on her own. Everyone else could come along if they wanted to. Whether car, truck, plane, bike, whatever, it was a weapon. It was dangerous. And she didn’t trust anyone else being in control of something that could take her life. If she was in the backseat when the car went off-road, she would be positive she could’ve done something to prevent it. 

The first time Root showed up on her motorcycle (“Whose bike is this, anyway?” she’d asked, to which Root smirked and said, “Let’s just say no one will be looking for it.”) Shaw hadn’t had the luxury of demanding a seat change. So she climbed on the back, wrapped her arms around Root’s waist, and held on as Root took off. They had to get out of the city to find an airport small enough to avoid strict security measures, driving over the George Washington Bridge and heading north into New Jersey. The Machine directed them to a tiny airport in the middle of nowhere, invisible until Root took them around a curve in the road and it simply appeared through the trees.

And against all odds or rational thought, a jet was indeed sitting on the runway. All the smaller planes were sitting off to one side to give their massive cousin a place to sit. Winter sunlight gleamed on the front windows and ran along the fuselage as if it was waiting for them to arrive and take it away. Root drove the bike into a hangar and pulled a tight circle so she could park facing out. 

Shaw removed her helmet and climbed off the back of the bike. “One of these days you’re going to have to tell me how you do that.”

“I don’t do anything,” Root said with a knowing smile. “It’s all Her.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “All right. Well, which one of us is supposed to fly that thing?”

“We’re still waiting for our pilot. Should be here any minute.”

“You’re just going to leave the bike here?” Root looked at the bike and shrugged. “It could come in handy. Never know when you’re going to need a bike in a hurry.”

Root cocked her head to the side. “True...”

“Do I have time to take care of it before our ride gets here?”

“Sure. If you know what to do.”

“It’s not exactly genius. You just have to know what you’re doing.”

Root chuckled. “That’s true of everything, Shaw.”

Shaw guided the bike over to one corner so she could prepare it for a long idle period. The biggest steps were that the gas tank needed to be full in order to prevent condensation build-up and the battery needed to be removed and kept warm. She needed to find something to prop it up as well, so the weight would be off the tires. She had little doubt she’d find something that could do the trick somewhere in the hangar. She unzipped her jacket and draped it over the bike’s seat. It was freezing and she was just in a tank top, but she had little doubt she’d warm up quickly enough by working on the bike.

As she crouched by the machine, Root moved to stand in the open doorway of the hangar. She was still in her leathers, the helmet left behind so her hair was falling freely around her shoulders. The snow on the trees across from where she stood made her darker colors stand out even more, made her look like a surreal scar on the terrain. There weren’t many people Shaw would ride bitch for, and even fewer that she wouldn’t resent for it. Though she would never admit it out loud, she felt safe with Root. The woman was insane, but she was also insanely good at what she did. Cole once suggested people could only be considered “the best” at something if there was someone to compare them to. Root was singular, but she was also the best at what she did. Shaw had no doubt that if a competitor popped up, Root would overcome them.

Root turned to look at her and Shaw focused on the bike. 

#

Shaw was focused on the bike. Her jacket was off, revealing a black tank top and toned, muscular arms. She had a tattoo on her right forearm. Root looked away again, ostensibly to watch for their ride, but she was discomfited by the way Shaw made her feel. She’d had feelings for people before. Her heart had raced and there were moments when she’d wondered what it would be like to take it further. But something always stopped her. Fear, she supposed. Fear that giving in to those emotions would make the person she cared about vulnerable. She’d only truly cared for two people in her life. They were both gone. Her mother, and Hanna. 

But Shaw? She was a fighter. During the ride up, Root had found herself distracted from the Machine’s voice for the first time since it started speaking. Shaw’s arms around her, the squeeze of her thighs when they went around curves, the weight against her back... she knew that riding in the second seat on a motorcycle was the “bitch” seat, meant to convey some sort of subservience. But when Shaw was in that seat, wrapped around her so tightly, it was Root who was overcome. 

She liked being in Shaw’s arms. She didn’t like anyone hold tight to her, clinging to her, but if it was Shaw... then it was bearable. Because she knew Shaw wasn’t doing it to control her. When Shaw gave her backup, it wasn’t because she thought it was necessary. She knew Root could take care of herself, but she also knew there were some things that couldn’t be done alone. 

Finch once asked her what it was like to hear the Machine. If there was a period of adjustment. But the truth was, she’d been adjusting to silence her whole life. She’d been waiting for the voice to guide her. Now she found it, and it kept pointing her toward Sameen Shaw. Even when acquiring her help required a kidnapping, the Machine insisted she was necessary. Even when their first tremulous partnership ended with Shaw punching her in the face, she knew there was no way for her to win without the aggressive little psycho on her side.

She’d been searching for the Machine all her life, and the Machine had almost instantly opened her eyes to Shaw. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Shaw...”

“A little busy here, Root.”

“I just wanted to say thank you. For not making me kidnap you this time.”

“Well, last time was just so much fun... and who can resist stealing a jet?”

She thought she saw something that resembled a smile on the other woman’s face, but she didn’t look up from what she was doing. The way her muscles played under her skin, sweat beading on her biceps despite the cold. Her forearms were so lean that Root swore she could see the tendons working. Shaw’s body was a magnificent machine, and she wanted those arms wrapped around her again. She wanted to be out on the open road with Shaw’s chin on her shoulder.

She wanted to feel the thrum of the engine between her legs to explain away the tingling she felt there when she looked at the scooped neck of Shaw’s tank top. She wanted to lean forward so the vibrations of motor and road could pulse up through her lower body. The helmet would mask the redness of her cheeks, but she knew Shaw would feel her rocking her hips back and forth against the horn of the seat. Maybe Shaw would match her movements. Maybe she would move her hand between Root’s legs and help things along. 

Subtle pressure with three fingers, both of them facing forward, steaming up their helmet visors to dangerous levels. She’d always been satisfied with her own hand or the occasional devices, but now she wanted more. She wanted Shaw. It was enough to make her defy the Machine. Stop Shaw’s progress on the bike, go out on the road, and push Shaw’s hand between her legs. Her breath was coming quicker now, and she smoothed her hands on the hips of her jeans. 

“Shaw...”

“I hear him.” Shaw pushed herself up, her body lithe and fluid as she got to her feet. She wiped the grease from her hands and looked past Root at the road. Root turned and saw a truck driving toward the jet. Shaw walked up beside Root and watched the vehicle approach. “I’m assuming our ride is here.”

“Uh. Y-yeah.”

Shaw looked at her. “What’s with you?”

Root tore her attention away from how Shaw was scrubbing grease from her fingers. Wrapping the cloth around one, twisting, working it back and forth... Root’s cheeks were burning as she turned away.

“Just worried about what we have to do.”

“Well, whatever’s in store for us, I gotta say... kicking it off by stealing a jet?” She smiled. “You and the Machine sure know how to show a gal a good time.”

Root smiled and swayed a bit, the stone-cold killer she’d been for so long fleeing and leaving behind the tortured young genius who had been terrorized into keeping quiet. Shaw was magnificent, strong and sure of herself, the kind of person Samantha Groves had dreamed of growing up to be. She’d forced herself to be strong and she could fake being sure of herself, but the shy girl? The quiet girl who hid out in her room with computers? That girl was never going away. The strange thing was, Shaw seemed to like the real her.

She followed Shaw along the tarmac to meet their pilot. She didn’t know what was waiting for them in Alaska. Her relationship with the Machine meant that she rarely knew what was going to happen an hour or even five minutes ahead. She had a feeling that her relationship with Sameen Shaw was going to be the same way. She would just have to take events as they came, go with the flow, and appreciate each revelation as it was given to her.

Once she convinced the pilot to escort them to Anchorage, they would have ten hours in a plane to work out what the next step would be. She imagined Shaw’s arms around her, warm puffs of breath on her neck, and she felt another curious shudder of arousal. She was riding bitch, in the biker parlance, but she trusted the people with their hands on the tiller. The Machine had gotten her this far, and she was willing to bet partnering with Shaw would get her even further.

Just like with the Machine, she couldn’t wait to find out what would happen next.


End file.
